This story is a work of fiction. It contains descriptions of violent behaviour between adults, references to violent behaviour between adults and children, and expressions of affection. If you find this type of story offensive, or if you are underage and it is illegal for you to read it, please exit now. All characters are fictional and in no way related to any persons living or deceased. Any such similarity is purely coincidental and uncanny.
This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written consent of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the provisions of their submission guidelines but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the direct consent of the author.
I can be contacted at Bookwyrm6@yahoo.com
I don't bite people who write to me, even if they ask for it. So let me know if the story is better, worse, or even entertaining.
Copyright 2003 Kristopher R. Gibbons All rights reserved by the author.
I want to thank Rob for his tireless editing help, his keen eye and his helpful ideas. Also thanks to Nifty and its 'Archivist' for his patience.
27 This Above All
This above all, to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 3, lines 78 ff.
Evendal grinned and shared glances of complicity with Ierwbae, Metthendoenn, and Falrija. "So Guard Kinmeln was the mould of all attainable virtues, for you?"
To the King's surprise, Punfaesyl shook her head. "Yes and no, Your Majesty." She visibly struggled to winnow the man's flaws out of the chaos of her memories. "He was quiet and kind, but not nice and hardly wise. In his generosity, he was easily hoodwinked by us. He liked ale, and never refused the offer of a drink. Every offensive euphemism I know, I learned from listening to him."
"So if you were speaking of a family member, would Guard Kinmeln be likened to an uncle? An older brother? A nathlil?"
"Perhaps an older brother, but that I knew less of his life than I would have known with a brother. Something like a nathlil, for he learned more about me than I did about him. So it was for many of us."
Knowing it brutal, the King returned to more practical concerns. "You are an orphan once more, Punfaesyl. You are now no Guard, by Our fiat and your own agreement. Your home is where We say. What would you?"
"All I can think to do is beg Your Majesty's clemency and magnanimity, and seek out Your Majesty's Cinqet, for I shall not return to the Orphanage. I can hardly believe... she hates me so?"
"Understand We bear you no ill will or wish. You castigated yourself unnecessarily: You are not stupid or worthless, you are simply too young. Without maturity you would indeed remain a liability among the cohorts. That you sought to join Our Guard, in order to bring honour to yourself and to them, delights Us. So again We ask, has that aspiration been drowned in your sorrow at the fruits of your ambition?" He suddenly recalled that the person he addressed had only thirteen years, and added, "Any answer you wish to give bears no penalty from Us, provided it is truth."
Not really looking at anyone, Punfaesyl considered, the solemnity in her manner at odds with the youthfulness of her face. "I think not. I know what a Guard can be. And that is yet what I want to be and do."
"Then hear Our offer," the King declaimed. "You may abide with Us, in the Palace demesne, and take such training from Our Guard, the Archate, and the Scriveners as is appropriate for your age. You would acquaint yourself with the habits and person of Our Heir, so that you may join his personal Guard, should you accomplish your training and instruction."
He peered grimly at Mar-Depalai, who gazed complacently back. "What do you say to this offer, Punfaesyl?"
"I do not understand," Punfaesyl replied honestly. "You would allow me a commission? After my deception and after besmirching..."
"Not if you fail in your training and apprenticeship. And not if the duty We offer is onerous to you. But heed Us. You must remain honest in word as well as body and intent. Ever. No deception or prevarication." Evendal glanced at Ierwbae, who blushed and looked down. "Not to Us, nor to others."
To Evendal's unease, Punfaesyl began to weep. "Oh, Your Majesty. Your kindness!"
"You accept?" the King asked. The girl nodded. "You will not think it kindness after Mar-Depalai's tutelage." The face on the Guard in question turned from smug to alarmed. "We are not being kind, Punfaesyl, Our son is."
He addressed Mar-Depalai. "You are not to instruct her in the duties of a Guard, We have another for that."
"Then what would you have of me, my Lord?"
"You, and later Guard Metthendoenn, are to instruct her in defensive and offensive fighting. The ethos as well as the work." The Guard looked about to protest. "Think of it as a way of re-establishing the disciplines Mar-Jessaupela instilled in you, and passing them on. You will have to make allowances for her height, of course." Evendal sent a warning in the look he speared the Guard with. The look clearly demanded further considerations and prudence.
Mar-Depalai assessed Punfaesyl's height and breadth and, seeing a challenge, broke into a genuine smile. "Ever Your Majesty's servant."
Evendal responded with a heartfelt, "Thunders! I hope not!" This made Kri-estaul giggle, delighting the King.
"Punfaesyl, you may not wear the livery of a King's Guard, for His Highness will have his own Guard distinct from Ours. Guard Hielbrae can better attend to the distinctions. Any questions?"
"Your Majesty, not to seem ungrateful..."
"You have thirteen years, dear girl. We could hardly expect you to act the awestruck toddler. Speak."
"One of the duties of a Guard most dear to me is to provide help and succour to many people..."
"And not to just one," Evendal finished the thought for her. "You mistake Kri-estaul's present condition for customary. He is as active a child as his health, and Our concern, permit. Is this not so, Your Highness?"
"That is so," Kri-estaul confirmed. "I do not want to stay kept to beds." He shivered at the image his own words evoked. "When the spring returns, I am going to go outside again! And see the ships and piers, and the cliffs, and all the people I can!"
"Our son even now has many friends, and will have made many more by the time you are fit for any duty. His most pointed concern of late has been the disenfranchised, such as the Stone-haulers and his fellow survivors of the under-grounds. Once that concern can be turned into action, you will not want for purpose. He also has people who claim his friendship in the Cinqet and the Tinde'keb."
"Then, again, I accept, Your Majesty."
Evendal nodded. "Your lessons may begin now. Go out this door, to the doorway at your right. Your first instructor dwells there for the moment."
"Your Majesty?" Punfaesyl gaped, uncertain if she was being teased.
"Consider this your first instruction and testing, in patience and physical gentleness. He is a Guard who has suffered a wounding, and your assignment is to tend him, assisting the priests."
"What? Tend him like my foster-father?" The prospect dismayed the girl.
"Very like, We suppose, but with one important difference. This fellow shall thrive. Now, go. You have Our leave."
With a look of uncertainty, Punfaesyl knelt. "Your Majesty." She knelt a second time. "Your Highness."
Owl-eyed, Kri-estaul watched Punfaesyl leave, shadowed by Mar-Depalai. The King grinned at his son, not surprised when a shout issued from the next room. "K-K-Kinmeln?!"
"I think she may enjoy her first set of lessons," Evendal presumed.
"I hope she didn't wake him up," Kri-estaul mumbled, causing Drussilikh and Evendal to laugh aloud.
The Kwo-edan protested. "Your Majesty, I can hardly instruct her, attend you and Kri-estaul here, and..."
"Peace, Aldul," the King interrupted, annoyed at the honorific. "You are Our friend and, if you would permit it, Kri-estaul's nathlil. You are the Archate presence for the Palace. That is enough. Of all services in Osedys over the last nine years, the Archate suffered the least attrition. The Temple can spare at least a battalion of priests had We the need. Are We in error, Lady Sygkorrin?"
"No, Your Majesty. Though we have never been numerous, we are equal to all reasonable demands."
"Matron?"
"Your Majesty?"
"Were We presumptuous in Our offer of your guild's services?"
"No, Your Majesty. She will need them."
Drussilikh glanced at the door, where a young man, thin-limbed but with a pronounced rounded stomach, stood. "Your Majesty, may I present Lialityne's counterpart, Shae-danleth mek'Aldenth?"
Evendal nodded and motioned the youth to approach.
By way of dismissal, the King said, "Mistress Lialityne, you have Our gratitude. Accept Our leave to come and go as your work requires without waiting upon the trappings of Our station. Likewise do We grant this privilege to Shae-danleth mek'Aldenth."
As Shae-danleth bowed and took Lialityne's place, Lialityne curtsied once, and then a second time upon reaching the door.
Evendal watched her departure with an air of distraction. "We wish Fillowyn aghd'Efferdiy would acquire a Master Steward for Us. Soon."
The Temple sounded the ninth bell of the day.
"What troubles you, Your Majesty?"
"Too much, Aldul, but most immediately? We wish to send a message to Our mother, as We cannot visit with her. There is so much to tell her, and while We would rather do so face-to-face, such is not feasible until either she or my son can be moved."
Aldul spoke up again, even as he blatantly scrutinised Shae-danleth. "Exercise your patience but a sennight, Lord, and the Lady Wytthenroeg, suitably attired and in a litter, might could be brought to the Palace."
Evendal sat up a bit straighter, startled. "In truth?"
"Lord, your mother's condition has been improving since the day after she arrived. But even so, I would encourage such a letter. Some tangible evidence from you that you were not some fever-born phantasm of hers would be a help."
"We shall write her presently. Shae-danleth, might We avail Ourselves of your tools?"
"Most certainly, Your Majesty. Though to serve you in such matters myself is what I am here for."
"In this instance, however, We Ourself must labour. Such evidence as We can give her, We shall." And Shae-danleth gave over his board, quill, ink, and rag. Evendal accepted all but the last item.
"Lady Sygkorrin, how well can Our mother see?"
"Only indistinct shapes. All the colours you and I see, but no sharpness, no detail. She will have the text read to her."
"This will have to satisfy then, until We are at her side. Rag-leaves will not serve; We are not a novice at Our letters." And taking a square of parchment, Evendal demonstrated this truth, writing with economy of movement and displaying clean lines and a spare elegance:
To Wytthenroeg olm'Haedroeg, formerly of Alta, greeting.
Your bay sapling weathered blights unforeseen,
And found wonders and gifts awaiting him.
Though drastically changed by all that has been,
His heart is yet soft, his eyes far from dim.
Let not puissance nor time's passage dismay,
This son remains,
Your now sheltering bay.
Mother,
The High Priestess Sygkorrin, Prince of the Archate,
has given us the felicitous news of your rapidly improving constitution.
We await your better health, both I and my son so newly adopted.
Whatever rumours you may hear regarding me will in all likelihood
prove true. I look forward to our meeting with the veils and deceptions
of the past no longer necessary. The Lady Sygkorrin and her ambassador
to the Royal Majesty, Aldul, can apprise you of all essentials.
Believe that my so recently corrected knowledge of my lineage
is a source of elation to me and that I do in truth abide as
Your delighted son,
Evendal m'Alismogh ald'Menam a Wytthenroeg
-
Sulen üreg Œs´dah
-
Hraktreh'amel yr Ddys
-
me'Seners Oatelharh
"She will appreciate the chance to criticise my word choice," Evendal mused. "'Twas ever a point of despair in her instruction of me."
Once the ink had dried, he rolled the note and turned to Drussilikh.
With a smile and a declining of her head, the Quillmaster surrendered a plug of purple wax. The nearly black cylinders of the royal colour had been solely the trust of every Quillmaster since the Nikraan Advent.
Once he had sealed the roll with the onyx pattern on his gold ring, Evendal extended the missive to the High Priestess. "Lady Sygkorrin, would you see that she is read this?"
Not waiting on the woman's response, Evendal swiftly twisted about in his chair, parchment-roll still in his grip. "Kri?" The King surprised a sour expression on the boy's face. "You are worried?"
"No, Papa."
"Kri-estaul, do not ever lie to me out of fear of me," Evendal whispered.
The child's neck bulged as his muscles tightened in anxiety. "Don't want to be ba... more trouble," he stuttered.
"You are going to be trouble," Evendal admitted baldly. "You have no control over that. Just as I also cause difficulty. You don't think all these people enjoy what I command of them, do you? Accept it. Now, what were you thinking? What were you afraid to say just now?"
"I am afraid," Kri-estaul admitted. "What will she think of me?"
Evendal's first thought was to minimise the boy's concern. 'Do not worry so, she will love you as I do.' But Kri-estaul's drawn and tense expression required more than unthinking and tawdry comfort. Matching the child, gravity for gravity, he replied, "You have some fancies about that, don't you. Some strong fears."
Unable to look anywhere but up into his father's glowing gaze, Kri-estaul nodded. "She'll laugh. Or think you are making a bad joke, like Soandrh and Jaserle did."
"Or?" Evendal knew there was more.
"Or... think you are moonstruck. She'll make you give me up, take me back... to... to my sister's or the Temple or, or..."
"Shhh. Calm yourself, beloved. What makes you think all this?"
"Look at me! I'm a... a doorstopper!" Kri-estaul broke down, sobbing and flinching as his body movement irritated healing tissue and muscle.
"What nonsense!" Drussilikh protested vehemently. "You are a son of the House of Keh'my-ralur. Mother's father guided the Scriveners for over twenty years from a chair that he was carried into and out of every day because seizures had ravaged his body. More than the Scriveners were grateful for his stubborn strength and guidance."
Evendal lay down on the bed beside his son and gestured to Drussilikh with a finger to his lips. "Kri-estaul, you forget what I told you. I knew. I knew you might never walk, with your legs as they were. And I assure you, before you say it, that pity had no part in my adopting you. Think, my son. I know it is a big change for you, whether they were 'damn burdens' or not. But you saved my life without being able to walk. You made sure and strong friends in Pohul-halik, my ancestor Surn-meddil, and Kul, none of whom are sentimental. Jaserle, who initially thought you a tool for his ridicule, has all but crowned you King. And not because you are a pathetic doorstop.
"Do you know what you are?"
Sniffling, and still scowling in his anxiety, Kri-estaul mumbled, "Your son."
"Yes. What else?"
"The Heir?"
"Yes. What else?"
Kri-estaul did not know what else to add. "Your friend?"
"Yes. What else?"
"I don't know!"
"My most amazing gift. And the most powerful man..." seeing the child about to protest, Evendal amended "...or boy in the kingdom."
After letting his son calm himself, Evendal addressed the voiced worry. "Kri-estaul, pretending that your fears were just, that for some reason my mother Wytthenroeg saw you and repudiated you. Should she come to me and demand that I remove you to the Archate, to the Quillmaster's or mayhap even to the Orphanage, what do you think I would answer?"
"I don't know." And Evendal hated the tremble in his son's voice, the truth in his profession of ignorance.
"Understand that this is my mother, the woman who gave me respect, affection, and stability. She guided my growth in all vital matters: letters, courtesy, the art of government, language, and the trivia; numbers, geometry, and music; the virtues and responsibilities of the man of authority and nobility. What do you think I would answer?"
"I'm sorry." Kri-estaul tried to hide his head, but Evendal, lying cautiously beside him, propped the child's head up.
"Is that what you think I should say?"
"No. I don't know."
"No, you could not know yet. But I will tell you. And I would doubtless use many more words than this, but I would tell her that she is my past. All that I am that is good started from her instruction. But -- she cannot make my decisions for me. She either trusts her instruction, and me, or she must expect that she will not be welcome in my presence."
After a moment of deciphering, Kri-estaul's eyes grew wide. "You would..."
"Send her away? Banish her from me? With sadness, yes, but utterly and without a doubt -- until or unless she showed a change of opinion and attitude. Were she to object to you, my very own most precious son, I could hardly trust her."
Kri-estaul blinked, and tore his eyes away from Evendal's.
"Tell me, sweetling," but Kri-estaul remained mute. "You don't quite know how to, do you?" The child shook his head, crinkling the bedding cover and the batting beneath.
"Then let me tell you what I guess. You feel, as I used to, the weight of your own neediness. You do not like being an object of contention, the focus of attention." Evendal paused and reconsidered. "No, you're afraid of it, aren't you? If you draw attention to yourself, that might annoy. If you require too much, ask too often, I might..."
"Throw me over the wall!" Kri-estaul realised he spoke a fear aloud and froze. He watched worriedly as Evendal's hand drifted down toward his face, only to feel it caress his forehead and prickly hair.
"Give me time, my son. Please?"
Kri-estaul stared up at the King once more, confused.
"Give me time to prove all my promises true. I am not, and will never be, cruel to you, tired of you, or burdened by you. I do expect certain behaviour from you, however."
This was new to Kri-estaul. His face turned as still as his frame. "What?"
"I expect you to pretend you are the most important person in the King's life. That without you to smile at him or laugh at him, the King would abdicate and exile himself from Osedys until his ashes were but a legend. I expect you to tell me when you feel ignored, hungry, lonely, or bored. Now, look at me." Kri-estaul obeyed, forehead creased in anxiety. "Do you think I do not mean what I am saying?"
Drussilikh and Aldul felt something change. No one had moved, the overcast that greyed the sky outside the window had not dispersed or diminished, the few torches yet burned unabated; the hearth fires blazed their warmth. But, quick as a blink, they knew a tangible alteration in their surroundings.
"Do you think I cannot see you? Hear your thoughts? Your feelings?" Evendal challenged. "Every time I look at you now, I hear what goes on inside you, to your most malicious, horrible, most disgusting impulse. It all whispers, whistles, and sings to me, a cacophony I have learned to work through. The fancies you cherished toward Nisakh's punishment, the dashed hopes that he would reward your sincere will and effort at pleasing him. The situations you imagined when you have been furious at me, worried about me, and terrified of me. The feelings that Punfaesyl evokes in you..."
"Papa! I'm sorry! Please don't hate me!" the child cried out.
Evendal continued to stroke his son's head and gaze down at him. "Kri-estaul. Kri-estaul. Shhh. Attend. Look at me. Look. Do you see anything of hate in my face? Anything of disgust or dismay? Look!"
Unable to disobey, Kri-estaul grew calm staring into the silver glow. "Your eyes! They're not gold!"
Evendal ignored the distraction. "Do you think I do not know you, my son, down to the foundation of your heart?"
"N-n-no."
"Do you trust that I perceive all you have been and felt, all the worst of what you are?"
Soft as the draft created by the motion of a single feather, Kri-estaul breathed out, "Yes."
"Yes," Evendal m'Alismogh agreed. "So what I say now I say knowing your basest impulses and fancies. True?"
Fear dried Kri's eyes, making him blink repeatedly. "True,"
"I say that you are my son, that you come before Osedys in my heart. That you are worth every Pearl of Delight in Thasylh Bay. That you are kind, gentle-hearted. That providing for your needs is no hardship. That you are a kind and gentle-hearted boy.
"Keep looking at me, Kri," Evendal insisted, when the child turned his head in negation. He reiterated the hardest truth yet a third time: "That you are a kind and gentle-hearted boy. Do I deceive myself, Kri-estaul? Your wishing to drown in the midden is Nisakh's command to you, stop harbouring that image!"
Kri-estaul's eyes widened, as did Drussilikh's.
"I told you. I hear what you tell yourself, all I have to do is look at you. Now. Am I deceiving myself? No. I know you to the depths. And I see a kind and gentle-hearted boy who is worth every ship in my ports. Shall I send them off to Arkedda, Kri? Do you want them? They are yours, as easily as that, and in all verity. Alekrond would bow to you as readily as to me."
Evendal continued to stare, unblinking at his son. "If one more courtier demands an exclusive audience, I may abdicate. They are a burden, Kri-estaul. They are, not you. If they come between you and me, if they keep me from answering to your need for my attention, then let Cheselre or Sygkorrin speak from the Throne."
The King glanced up at an alarmed Ierwbae and an amused Drussilikh. "You may smile, Matron, but I am not jesting. You do not know how close I am just now to pushing Cheselre or Edrionwytt onto the Throne and carting Kri-estaul and myself off to Minahn Island. Do you think Gwl-lethry, commendable as he is, matters more to me than your brother? Pohul-halik would be scandalised and disappointed in me, and I could not care less than I do now about that.
"I know you to your core, Kri-estaul, and I say that you are worth more to me than any contagion of courtiers could hope to be worth. You are not a distraction, you are not a burden, you are not an anchor dragging me down."
Again Kri-estaul shied at phrases lifted from his self-hate.
"You are my son. A kind and gentle-hearted boy. Whose needs I have the privilege of attending to."
Kri-estaul had begun to weep once more, a quiet steady tearing with eyes fixed on his father.
"You know I do not lie. And I mean every word. I have been doing a lot of talking at you, haven't I? Do you know why I all but drown you in the tumult of my speech?"
"No."
"Because your fears and your so passionately wanting to 'not be a bother' come from one source: Nisakh. The shame he beat into you. The lies he taught you. I am determined to teach you better, and since I dare not hold you as yet, I try to surround you with my words. I love you, Kri-estaul, my loveable son."
Evendal stood and motioned for the ewer, anticipating his son's next words: "I need to piss."
Wordlessly, Hielbrae grabbed a cloth and the urine-pot and helped Kri-estaul with the coverlet. Evendal moved around the bed, getting out of Hielbrae's way, but maintained his stare into his son's troubled face. "Kri-estaul, do you have any idea what I see?"
Confused, befuddled that his father would ask him anything while he concentrated on not wetting the bedding, the child shook his head.
"I see you. My son Kri-estaul. That is all I see, because that is all there is to see. Not a 'bothersome cry-baby,' not a 'legless piece of offal.'"
Kri-estaul winced at another voicing of phrases that had been echoing through his head.
"I see you. A fragile treasure of a boy, thinking a boy's thoughts. That's what they are, Kri-estaul. Nothing that runs through your mind is any worse than the sometime nonsense that runs through mine."
Swiftly, startling the still shocky convalescent, Evendal knelt beside the bed and cupped Kri-estaul's head in his thin, long-fingered hands. "If you hear nothing else, hear and believe that, my son. The thoughts and feelings you have are every boy's."
The King glanced at the parchment that had dropped to the floor. He waited for Hielbrae and Kri-estaul to finish before resuming. "Kri-estaul, I intend to advise my mother of your condition." He paused. "Go ahead and say it, son."
"Warn her?" the child blurted, then flinched. "Forgive me, Papa..." Weary, his voice failed.
"No, Kri. To let her know, from my own hand, why I have not visited."
"You... you don't have to stay if you... w-want to see her. I have D-Drussie and Hielbrae to take care of me right n-now." Kri-estaul's eyes were the size of vianki as his fingers gripped the cover's edging tightly.
The welter of Kri-estaul's dread, resignation, and generosity played through Evendal's mind like a brisk fauxbourdon.(87) "Yes, that's true."
He stared down at his son as though seriously considering the option. "I think I would rather stay with you, if you don't mind. I made you a promise, one that is important to me."
"Why?"
Not quite certain himself, Evendal thought aloud. "You spent two years utterly alone but for that foul rabbit Nisakh and his ilk. Alone in darkness, feeling forgotten, discarded. I will not help you relive any part of that if I can prevent it. Not when you have made it clear that I bring you the most comfort and the greatest sense of safety. Do you want me gone?"
"No. Please."
"Then I am happy to stay here beside you. Look closely, my son. Do you want me here?" Kri-estaul nodded. "Then here I wish to stay."
The child saw and felt the truth in Evendal's words: that Evendal was pleased, not annoyed, to be Kri-estaul's help and support. "But she's your mother."
"Yes, and has stayed by my bedside when I have not been well, also. So she will understand. It is something fathers and mothers do for their children. It is one of the elements that make the phrase 'I love you' true, my son."
Again Shae-danleth proffered his board for Evendal to write upon:
After-Word to Wytthenroeg olm'Haedroeg, formerly of Alta, yet again greeting -
Unheralded, the brother of Drussilikh has claimed territory in my life.
A child survivor of the Beast's depredations, he has become my heir
& my advisor, my compass in matters of the human heart.
The Beast's cruelties destroyed his legs and, made sensitive to the
disposition of those around him, he worries for your goodwill
and good opinion. I do not know what would best assure my son
of your benison. He is an endearing wonder of ineluctable will
and lowly self-estimation.
I write this simply to make you aware of his anxiety --
that the unavoidable removal of his legs, the damage to his frame,
must render him offensive to you.
Evendal read this out and explained it all as best he could to Kri-estaul, who nodded and whispered a sad thanks. Instead of returning the board to Shae-danleth, the King thought for a moment with eyes shut and then rewetted the stylus:
Understand that both my will and love toward this my son
are as fixed as my love for you, Mother. I will not countenance
harm to either of you by look, word, or action -- direct
or indirect.
I remain,
Your Evre-lindal
"What was that?" Kri-estaul asked.
"Merely a parting word, letting her know that I regard you two equally," Evendal answered truthfully and, after sealing the second missive, bound the two together with some twine and a few more drops of wax. He returned the writing materials to the scribe.
Even as he handed the capped ink to Shae-danleth, the light from Evendal's eyes transmuted back to its golden, burnished hue.
"I would leave for a time," Sygkorrin spoke up, bowing to the Majesty of Osedys. "So permit me to act as messenger to the true Dowager. Aldul can keep me informed should I be needed here. I shall send you a tutor for Punfaesyl, and a courier and aide for Aldul."
"As you will, Your Eminence and Our friend." Evendal handed her the rolls and Sygkorrin briskly departed.
Looking about the room, the King caught Aldul literally sitting on his hands. He stood and lifted the Kwo-edan out of his seat, pulled the chair up to the hearth, and then set Aldul back down.
"I am not your child," Aldul grumbled softly.
"No?" Evendal replied with a smirk. "Then don't you be ashamed of your need. Aldul, winters here are not kind to southerners, as Shae-danleth could doubtless tell you."
Aldul gave no reply but to stare for a long moment at the young scribe.
"Papa?"
Evendal swung back to his son.
Kri-estaul lay pale and heavy-eyed. "I'm sleepy but I don't want to sleep! It's all I have been about."
"There is little else you can do for a while, my son. Sleep. I will be right here. If you get a visitor, I shall waken you."
Evendal ald'Menam knew without being told that the expressed concern of others, while painful and worrisome to the shame-steeped boy, would eventually prove reparative. He sat back down between his son and Metthendoenn, with Drussilikh and Aldul on the far side of the larger bed, nearer a hearth. Again Kri-estaul's hair begged soothing.
"Why do I harbour the suspicion that, even when he recovers in full, I shall yet feel this... worry?"
"'Tis the disposition of a parent," Shae-danleth murmured.
The King watched as Kri-estaul's face relaxed into a doze. Drussilikh waited, anticipating censure for her underling's breach, but none came. When Evendal looked up at the scribe, the Matron was alarmed to see tear-tracks flanking the line of the royal nose. "Oh most fortunate of sons!'The disposition of a parent?' Not in Our experience. You speak from your life's tables?"
Shae-danleth had the sense to decline his head in embarrassment for heedlessly diverting the royal attention. "Your Majesty..."
"Please answer."
"I serve two children, Your Majesty, and one beauteous wife. And both my father and mother were kind and longsuffering toward me and my siblings."
"Children born unto you? Or provided by a previous mate to your spouse?"
"Mine, Your Majesty. But I know that, for myself and many others, whether I engendered the children matters little."
"You have heard now something of what troubles His Highness's heart."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Forgive me, but I could not readily avoid it."
"Nothing to forgive, Shae-danleth. Have you ever dealt with such distress? Have you any direction, correction, that might better effect healing here?"
Shae-danleth shook his head. "Only reassurance, Your Majesty. What you do, if what I heard is representative, will work best. The keeping of promises, a reliable presence, consistent calm and affection. Is it true that he has been a Guard's... er, a former Guard's whipping post for nearly two years?" Evendal and Drussilikh nodded. "Safe touching and... cuddling when he can endure it, not just when he is upset or has drawn your attention. Most likely you will not notice when he has given up the certainty of his own wretchedness. He himself will not be able to point at any given moment as definitive. Intrinsic goals also help."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing you can expedite, and something you had best not try to imitate. Your Majesty, His Highness, in the common way of things, will claim challenges for himself. The meeting and conquering of such privately held tests, on his own and uncosseted, is its own medicine."
Evendal nodded. "I thought already not to leap in and rescue him from every difficulty, though it goes contrary to my desire. Along the same thought, I have determined not to offer praise where I do not sincerely feel pride."
Shae-danleth grinned half-heartedly. "Yes. I had waxed fulsome about several sketches my daughter brought me, some of poor skill and less effort. I carried on about all of them indiscriminately. I had done this before and not even realised I had fallen into such a habit. This last time, however, she burst into tears. After I went into desperate raptures over her work, hoping to mollify her, she told me that some of the pages I held were hers and some were my son's." The young man shook his head. "If I had honestly bothered to look, I would have seen the differences; he has only six years! But I hadn't, nor had I realised that, having ten years and having always come to me with her efforts, she no longer needed mindless praise. In her own way my daughter read me an edict on that matter. She was testing me, whether I truly saw her when I looked at her, or simply saw 'a daughter,' a child. It was a question she didn't know she was asking, but one she needed an honest answer to. And I failed her.
"That is a reassurance I would give you, Your Majesty. You will fail, at times. Expect it."
"A reassurance?"
"Yes. For I recognise that when she stops coming to me, or stops answering me honestly, only then have I failed altogether."
Evendal considered that and nodded with a rueful grin. "I hope he remains as forgiving as he is now."
"The Matron forewarned me of the marks of your... unique estate, Your Majesty."
"To what purpose?"
"That I might not shame myself by staring like a Cinqet oaf, or react out of ignorance and fear. I do not understand all that passed just now between Your Majesty and His Highness, nor do I need to of course. But by what I did comprehend, I will be most happy to confirm, to all, the just and fitting affection you bear your son."
The King frowned. "Was there some doubt?"
Drussilikh had tensed at Shae-danleth's words, and sat motionless but for a closing of her eyes in dread.
"Some few, those with more time to build on such fancies than sense to find better employment, paint you as the newest lover of a child who had been the spoiled plaything of the Beast and the Abacus."
Evendal ald'Menam stared at Shae-danleth as at an exotic animal suddenly loose in the Palace. A quick glimpse toward the Quillmaster's averted face told him of her complicity in keeping him ignorant of the rumour. "Is this a common malediction?"
As she had once before, Drussilikh knew an oppression, the claustrophobia and warm, unpleasant tingling that heralded fierce thunderstorms. Unthinking, she looked outside to the late afternoon overcast that the winter cold had not dissipated. No storm threatened, outside.
Shae-danleth blinked in confusion. "No curse is intended."
"Are you saying such rumourmongers intend good?" the King snapped.
"No."
"Then such fabrications are essentially imprecations. By speaking such bile, these people express a wish." Again the light of Evendal m'Alismogh's eyes intensified, his lips curled downward in a scowl. "My first reaction is to evoke truth from them, make it so that when any such poison emerges from people's lips, the motive for it must promptly be confessed as well."
"You can do that? Such is within your scope?"
The expression on Lord Evendal m'Alismogh's face owned nothing of humanity. Though his eyes blazed brightly, his every feature stood out clearly: lashes and brows darkened in contrast, the lines of muscles along the jaw and cheekbones bulged in their tightening. What had seemed a severe but humane demeanour had swiftly lost all softness.
"You mean can I encompass my realm in such a glamour? Easily. Will I? No, not that one. I think it will prove... unnecessary."
"How so? Such an insult to the Authority of the Thronelands?"
The torches and lanterns, working with the hearth fires, had provided ample light to the room until that moment. Now to all within, Ierwbae, Metthendoenn, Drussilikh, Hielbrae, and Shae-danleth, it was as if a blanket had smothered both light and air.
As one startled by a happy surprise, Kri-estaul awoke and called out, "Health, Great-papa!"
Evendal stood and walked to the head of his son's bed, where it set against the wall. He spoke, seemingly to empty air. "Forefather, are we in accord?"
A soft tenor wafted through the apartment. "You coddle them, grandson! Will you let this simply pass?"
"Look on Us," Evendal grated out. "Do you truly think Us unmoved or indulgent when it touches on Our son's good name?"
A long moment of consideration in awful stillness, quiet but for five people's laboured efforts to draw breath, was finally broken by the formless presence. "No. In that, we are in accord. But I would send my legions to peck out the eyes of all, until they cry out begging for the mercy I do not ken! You are kinder than I, yet I defer to your mind and will."
"Then We claim Kul's sanction in this!" Evendal declared, placing a hand against the wall:
If ground or foundation stone witness
Words groundless and without foundation
Sprouting from fools by us yet unseen --
Malice most foul, bittersweet(88) unclean --
Against this Our child returned from death,
Twine Our summons into their next breath.
Unearth each taproot, salt their hearts' soil,
Make Our call stronger each hour they toil.
Guide them to Us, whether far or near,
To give Our son less cause for fear.
"And once here? What then?" Surn-meddil demanded.
"Then, We hold the mirror up to them," Evendal answered obscurely. "Peace, Father of Our Fathers. We can assure you the culpable will not like what they see."
"You are too gentle," came the complaint, as the feeling of pressure, of being enclosed and confined, gradually diminished. The thunderstorm slowly passed on, the thunderer momentarily placated.
"Your Majesty, I did not intend to so trouble you," the scribe blurted out, unnerved.
"Cease, Shae-danleth. Do not perjure yourself."
Drussilikh turned her head slowly from Evendal's bland and unrevealing countenance to examine her underling.
"Regardless of your intention, you have brought a fault to Our attention."
"Your Majesty!" Shae-danleth protested.
"You would still dispute the obvious? Very well." The King sat back down and again rested his hand on Kri-estaul's head. "You come before Us with an aplomb that can hardly be the self-possession of a callow young man. You, supposedly raised with a Kwo-edan's ingrained awareness of rank and position, address Us with an ease and familiarity that Drussilikh herself cannot manage. Your advice is both sound and demonstrates a depth of consideration not easily achieved by someone of a 'provincial' background, whose past life has been circumscribed by the social mores of one land or domain.
"You prodded Us into action, you provoked Us, to see just how We would respond. You tested Us, Shae-danleth. Why?"
The young man said nothing, but looked quickly around the room with a suddenly nervous attitude. The man's desperate look struck a chord in Evendal m'Alismogh, and once more he interceded:
You shall not run,
You shall not move,
But to breathe and speak
As We approve.
Words we'll exchange,
Truth let us have,
Dare not to lie.
Though you're unveiled
You need not die.
"What are you called and where do you hail from?"
"I am called Danlienn of Arkedda."
On hearing 'Arkedda,' Aldul relaxed back into his seat.
Drussilikh dropped her face into her hands. "Arkedda! Again?"
Evendal gestured Ierwbae and Hielbrae away, just as they moved in to flank the Arkeddan. "Danlienn, look at Us."
The man could not but obey. In the light from his eyes, Danlienn looked young indeed, but still bore the remnants of an uncanny self-control.
In the silence of expectation, as Drussilikh, Kri-estaul, and the Guard waited for their liege to begin interrogation, m'Alismogh heard the thread of a remembered conversation -- one he himself had never participated in. He grinned and sat back in his chair. "Ah. And how is Our brother Prince? We have not seen Murlesnad since just before Mausna."
"When last I heard, he was well. Anxious for word of Onkira, her state and fate." Evendal's dwoemer kept Danlienn confined, muscles restrained but for his chest, diaphragm, and vocal equipment.
"You were about to do what, when We singled you out so?"
"I had a lozenge of prussic acid in my palm, it slipped to the floor just now."
The King scowled. "You are too dramatic, Danlienn. Such caution is unwarranted. What did you expect We would do were you without that pastille?"
"I had not made my allegiances known to you; such silence is commonly taken by a sovereign as a threat. An unprovoked declaration of hostility. A failure of trust. I anticipated that you would force me to reveal what you indeed coerced me to reveal: Who it is I serve."
Evendal grinned gently.
"You laugh at me. And rightfully. How did you know? How do you do this? I have to stop this rambling somehow!"
"I know who you serve, Danlienn, because you carry the memory of Murlesnad's commission of you, and your last words to each other linger about you like a constant scent. Do you know what has become of Onkira?"
"Only that she has arrived on her ship within the last few days. Matron Drussilikh spoke of her pending execution, and then said it was postponed. So I presumed she has bargained in some manner for her life."
"No," Evendal declared tersely, then elaborated, "Her death is delayed because We must witness it, but We would not abandon Our son to anyone else. She will indeed be executed. How do you imagine the Majesty of Arkedda will take such tidings?"
"I cannot speak for His Majesty..."
"Nor did We ask you to. We asked for your honest and considered opinion of Murlesnad's reaction. Your opinion, Danlienn?"
"I expect that he will be guiltily relieved, Lord Evendal."
"As We Ourself will be. Danlienn, if We were to insist that you keep your current function in Our presence, and status among the Scriveners, what would you?"
"You play games with me, Your Majesty! You dare not. So I would either flee if I could or die."
"We have never said what We did not mean, Danlienn. And We tell you that such is what We desire. We wish you to maintain your work and state, and We offer not to interfere with your communication to Our brother sovereign."
"You cannot be serious!"
"We are. We have nothing to hide from Our friend and neighbour. We imagine you were sent to replace another. Are We correct?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. One who seconded the late Quillmaster's opinions, and died of it."
"But... but you are listed in Mother's scrolls as a master she sent off to Arkedda! She had you penned as from Kwo-eda," Drussilikh protested.
"Konnlev included a name and the appropriate details into one of those scrolls and sent His Majesty of Arkedda that information. Whoever was sent would be the 'Shae-danleth' listed in the scroll. The Kohermarthen's murder forewarned Konnlev sufficiently, he was able to have me 'recalled' before he was killed."
"You have been singularly ineffective, Danlienn," Evendal drawled. "There is the matter of Pur-denli, Hren-hallekh, and Sylittreh. Conspiracy fomented under your very nose."
"And so not unobserved," Danlienn replied grimly.
"Were you given no license to act?"
"Only if I myself proved to be endangered, Your Majesty. Or if I received a specific directive from His Majesty of Arkedda."
"Danlienn," Evendal tried a second time, "you have a wife and two children. Where were they born?"
"Arkedda, Your Majesty."
"We knew when you first spoke of them that you spoke truly. Do you care for them?"
"P-painfully so, Your Majesty. Please... don't."
"'Tis a strange ruler who endangers whole families in such a manner. We do not intend to harm any one of you. Danlienn, you may keep your life, your family, your liberties and your purposes. Simply because We know Our brother Prince and feel no threat from him. And because We are no threat to him. Can We convince you to stay your hand and to abide here with Us?"
The scribal spy found himself capable of movement again. He did not take advantage of his release except to toe the pill meditatively. "I will need to communicate your discovery of me, Your Majesty."
"If you feel you must. Though I warn you, should anyone else besides His Arkeddan Majesty reads your missives they might direct you to die, out of dismay or a Polgern-like hysteria."
"You talk as one who knows him."
"I did, for a brief time. As the only male issue of his royal father and most highborn mother, he was refused the 'honour' of fighting at Mausna. Defiant, he hid among his father's cavalry until Arkedda had reached the plains, then was caught out during a military inspection. We had helped hide him from the time We Ourself discovered him -- when Our father's troops had joined Arkedda's -- up until two days before We reached the plains. His being found out before the inundation was the surest sign of Ir's gracious caprice, though We imagine he thought it the worst ignominy at the time."
"He always says he doesn't know whether to cry in grief or laugh from relief whenever his escape from the Desolation is mentioned," Danlienn remarked. "Your Majesty, I shall accept your clemency."
"We are remiss, offering the restoration of a trust that is not Ours to give. Matron Drussilikh, can you yet welcome this able man back without rancour? Knowing him the sometime courier to Our neighbour power?"
Drussilikh sat up and turned a red face to Evendal. "Knowing that you accept his account of himself, the answer is yes. I anticipate some awkward moments, however. The best solution is to keep his relations with Arkedda solely the domain of us in this room. I am just grateful to Your Majesty that you impute no dishonour to my already scandal-ridden guild that we harboured a spy -- however well-intentioned or innocuous he proved in consequence."
"Do not worry so, Matron," Evendal chided. "We imagine that every province and kingdom is amply represented, sub rosa, when all the guilds and manorlords gather in Our Court.
"About his relations..." Evendal frowned and tilted his head to his left, listening. "We would ask your further indulgence, Danlienn, and permit Us to inscribe a sigil, Our personal imprimatur(89), upon the next message you send alerting your kinsman."
Danlienn breathed in sharply, his studied calm shaken. "How? How did you learn this?"
"Just now We recalled Murlesnad mentioning a 'Danlienn.' As We remember, he said you had eleven years then, the son of his father's second, and happier, morganatic marriage. Are We correct?"
The young man blushed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"It would be a sorry deed, were We to deprive Arkedda of a beloved half-brother. Please accept Our word as to Our goodwill toward you and yours, Danlienn."
Danlienn nodded, but returned to his prior queries. "Your Majesty, how were you able to accomplish what you have this hour? My restraint? Coercing my dearest secrets from me? The... that voice? The domination of the very air?"
"Do not, Danlienn, play the simpleton with Us. If you have reported Our ascension, you know of Our 'unique estate' as you called it. One of Our nobilities is 'Songmaster' and encompasses the matter of your detention and soothsaying."
"What of that dreadful oppressiveness, all but stealing the breath?"
Evendal searched the room as he spoke. "Our son has a friend, like unto a trustee. A volatile guardian with more investment than scruples as he avowed not to attend without making his presence known. The effects you all witnessed are marks of his -- more singular -- estate."
Looking as though he sat atop the large bed, Surn-meddil faced Evendal, grave of mien. "You never said I could not be an intangible, you said I was not to manifest when you were not present.(90) Please do not deny me the comfort."
Danlienn jerked back in his chair, his hand straying to a ring of his belt. "Thunders!"
Evendal, ignoring the poor man's reaction, thought on how it might be for such a creature as Surn-meddil. For so long a wild, unchallenged, and uncompanionable force. Feared when known about, confined to whatever role or purpose in Nature he served. And here reduced, by a memory and the hope of something more, to asking favours of feckless creatures sharing little or no commonality with him.
"Thank you for correcting Us, Father of Our Fathers. Our plan is to expand the limits of your interaction with Our son, not diminish them. He has need of a friend such as you right now." Evendal emphasized the word 'friend' to remind the spectre of Kri-estaul's age.
"Should you wish to keep Kri-estaul company, divert him, you are welcome to, whenever We are present. We both know how big his heart is. I am his father, yes, but you are more. Should you need, for your own peace of mind, to keep watch on him as we both sleep, you are welcome to. We suspect you have already taken that liberty."
"Yes, Grandson. You granted me that by not mentioning such a limit."
"And I shall not so limit. I may as well try to grasp a waterspout. But!" And here Evendal turned a stern face to the phenomenon. "But you shall not play with the limits that We have imposed. No awakening Kri-estaul while We sleep on, in order to talk with him essentially unattended."
"I shall keep to the intention of your restrictions as well as the specifics, Lord Evendal," Surn-meddil vowed. "I would take up your offer even now, if I may."
"If Kri-estaul is willing. What say you, son?"
"What?"
Evendal looked down on his tired son. "Great-papa Surn-meddil wants to spend some time with you right now. Are you up to another visitor?"
Kri-estaul looked peevish. "I... I don't want to fall asleep on him. I'm afraid I'll fall asleep!"
"I don't think that will upset him at all. You feel safe around him?"
"Of course!" Kri-estaul smiled at the absurdity of the question.
"Then, grant him the honour of an audience with you. If you fall asleep, Great-papa Surn-meddil knows you need it."
"You're not going away!"
"Of course not!" Evendal reassured.
"Greetings sweetling," Surn-meddil hailed. "If you feel sleepy, just go to sleep. I'll still be here. You must be bored."
Kri-estaul shook his head vigorously, but stopped at the spectre's look of disbelief. "Well, a little."
"Want me to tell you a story?"
"You know some more stories? I like what you told me in the forest."
"Then let me tell you more." Surn-meddil paused, glancing to Evendal briefly. "I told you a little about my spouse Ganil, right?" Kri-estaul nodded. "Did you know I was married before Ganil?"
"No, who was he?"
"It was to a lovely young woman named Heratinh. The daughter of one of my dukes(91). I courted her, though I was so starry-eyed and naïve it would be more accurate to say she courted me. She died two years after the birth of my twins..."
Evendal grinned sadly. He knew what Surn-meddil was about: A confession of sorts and an effort at acquainting Kri-estaul with his unique nature, giving the child points of reference and trying to provide familiarity for what might seem alien.
"Your Majesty," Danlienn's voice brought the King back to his own audience. "What wonder is this?"
"The guardian We spoke of," the King replied with a preoccupied nonchalance.
"Your Majesty!" Danlienn gaped as all that he had observed and suffered in such a brief time threatened to overwhelm him.
Evendal turned questioning glowing eyes on the trembling scribe and scion of the Arkeddan Royal House.
The young man swallowed hard. "This is passing strange. Such fearsome powers do not enfold the Majesty of Arkedda."
The King of Osedys grinned, amusement restored to his countenance. "You are so certain of this, are you?"
(87) (French), English false bass, also called faburden; musical texture prevalent during the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance, produced by three voices proceeding primarily in parallel motion in intervals corresponding to the first inversion of the triad.
(88) Solanum dulcamara, a poisonous rapidly growing vine with an insidious root system. Clinical signs: drooling, inappetence, severe gastric upset, drowsiness, lethargy, weakness, dilated pupils, and slow heartrate.
(89) Sanction, approval
(90) Chapter 20.
(91) Warlords.